Dance of the Faceless
by King of Wine
Summary: Within Region 6's Administration, various figures of many mentalities dance the dance of the faceless. Hiding their true colors behind masks, suits and ties, they oversee the enslavement of their species. But what happens when their grey and stable world suddenly suffers from a colorful intrusion, with possibly one of their own responsible?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

And with that simple, miniscule movement of his fingertips, it was done, over. The fate was sealed.

The end was certain.


	2. Chapter 1 - White Walls

**Chapter 1 - "White Walls"**

The white walls'd always had something pretty about them. Something polished and clean, almost sterile. Even though they weren't as structurally strong as the Combine walls most buildings consisted of these days, they made him feel safer. Perhaps it was the color. Maybe it was just plain nostalgia. And while it gave him an almost angelic feeling, the familiar also worried him. He, a minister, an example to the people, prophet of progression and opponent of reactionarism, should not have warmer feelings over the past instead of the present. But in the end, that's what it all came down to. One big play, one big show. A battle with masks instead of guns.

The Region 6 Administration offices, located in City 12, were a busy place. The halls were overly occupied with functionaries making their way from office to office, seeking advice from Senior Officials on ration cycles and crime rates, and assistants making sure the higher-ups got their daily dosages of coffee on time. A beehive of psychological warfare and public administration. He, as a Regional Minister of Civil Services, was in charge of regional housing, rations, civil licenses, faux economies, and other subjects of civil nature on a regional level. Recently his work had reached a new level of pressure, as City 15 reported severe structural damage to apartment blocks 5C, 4D and 4A the week before. The reasoning had been associated with a 'resistance attack', but he doubted its consistency. Resistance operatives rarely attacked civil targets. Of what use were dead civilians to their supposed ideal of saving those very same people?

He clearly shrugged off the thought, reminding himself he was a Finances professor, not a Psychologist, and that he had a meeting to attend to. Every Tuesday marked another Joint Meeting, where each and every regional executive got stuffed into the same old room to discuss the same old issues. Resistance operations, delinquent propaganda, unsatisfiable labor expectations,... and the list just keeps going on. It wasn't exactly a privilege to be part of the weekly bureau of bickering, but from what office rumors told him there were plenty senior officials who were craving to be a part of the joint meetings. Even in times like these, office politics prevailed. Sadly.

As he approached the door, a duo of ROYAL soldiers stood at its sides. Clean AR2's steadily in their gloved hands, each a red eye passively observing its surroundings. Their sleek appearance meant one thing, and one thing only, the Administrator's presence. Administrator Jefferson enjoyed getting himself involved. Not in the wrong way, he wasn't a micro-manager. He just liked diving into current affairs. The two soldiers made no objection to him moving through the opened double doors, recognizing his ID. The meeting hadn't begun yet. He was on time, as usual.

Inside were many faces of many calibers. From ministers to managers and from executives to commanders, they were here and they took pleasure in showing it. David Rosebury, regional security advisor, wore his usual three-piece suit with a vibrant purple tie, contrasting with his dull brown goatee. His job was basically to oversee regional civil protection and to advise the administrator on policy regarding public order. Not much on paper, nor in practice, yet he felt as if it was all him that kept the streets clean. Luckily the administrator knew how to deal with people of his particular flavor.

William Deckers, regional minister of culture, had taken pleasure in wearing a red Italian tie with his light grey charcoal suit. Will'd been a friend of him for years, even though their personalities contrasted majorly. William was the extroverted pervert who did the job more for social pleasure than for actual rational progress in modern society, while he was a first class introvert with the right mindset for his particular position. Nevertheless, opposites attract, and they'd known each other since long before the portal storms even began.

And then Maximilian Salander was just in the process of wiping his mouth with one of his Irish handkerchiefs. The only Frenchman in the room, and that was one too much if it depended on him. He consisted more of arrogance than of flesh and bones, his victory cigar awaiting its time at the end of the meeting inside of his breast-pocket. His dark hair appeared to have been swept back with over 2 pots of pure fat, probably salvaged from the finest pigs in the region. Disgusting.

All the virtues of luxury were present. Yet two men didn't seem so hell-bent on looking the patrician part. One of them was Philip Thorne, Chief of the Regional Perception Agency, pretty much the modern CIA, except spending more time making sure each civil administration did its part than actually infiltrating and extracting information. Or so he said. His attire consisted of a simple darker-grey suit with a white shirt and a slim black tie. But it was not his clothing that made the man, but rather his face. In his line of work he'd had to read plenty of faces, but Thorne's expertise lay with the fact he was utterly unreadable. Not because his expression was monotone, but rather because he was unpredictable and was able to keep signals which would usually show a man's thoughts buried deep down inside of him. His hawk-like pale blue eyes processed his surroundings as if part of his protocol. But even with all these cold attributes, most people generally seemed to have a good time interacting with him, especially the administrator. But he didn't like it. He didn't like him. Not just because he was so different from all the other blatant aristocrats, but because he had an aura of omnipotence, of superiority. Maybe it scared him, given his introverted nature. Maybe it just threatened him.

The second person not to be dressed as if it were the rich 70's was the administrator himself, Howard Jefferson. A large man, mostly in vertical size, with a distinguished smile upon his face, surrounded by a thick grey beard. He was older than most people in the conference room, but not the usual 'wise' type of old you'd expect of an administrator. He was jollier, he was more level-headed. Maybe even informal at times. But he was definitely the sun that shed warm light upon the offices. His presence was a beacon of joy, no matter how homo-erotic that sounded. He was a good man.

Before he could analyze the room any further, he noticed William signalling him over, motioning for the empty dark-leather chair at his side, surrounding the large conference table where everyone was centered at, conversing and interacting with each other. "Hey, wiseguy", Will said. "Where've you been? I thought we'd have lunch together." He didn't seem angry, he was used to his friend being overly occupied. "Sorry, must've forgot. Don't think I've even had lunch, too busy working on the C15 affair." He adjusted his tie as he sat down on the soft leather chair, giving a quick gaze around the room. "Well you really need to learn not to stress yourself out so much you don't even eat lunch. What if you starve? That Danny guy would probably get your position, and I ain't working with him." He laughed. Danny Leons was a brat, to say the least. Before he could elaborate on the thought, the administrator's deep and bellowed voice spoke, echoing throughout the room. "Alright everyone, let's get on with this. Commence the meeting."

And with that, everyone switched from being full-out social animals to being dedicated officials, the large oak-wooden doors closing behind them.


	3. Chapter 2 - Will I am

**Chapter 2 - "Will I am"**

Will was bored. There was little more than make of it than that. Utter boredom. He started questioning himself why these meetings were even held. The things discussed were little but formalities or projects which were already digitally distributed. And really, who would want to listen to Salander talk for half an hour? The horrifying vocals of annoyance itself. He had no idea how Gerald was able to hold out; taking notes and nodding towards the speaker now and then, as if paying attention. Even the largest of workhorses shouldn't be able to endure this. But alas, his friend even skipped lunch to work; Salander wouldn't do him much. "Thank you, mister Salander", the Administrator's voice cut him off. "Your added paragraph to the Combine Civil Codex is appreciated. Your hour-long elaboration is not. Please keep it short and sweet next time, thank you very much." Salander scoffed, folding his arms together as he leaned back into his leather chair, rolling his eyes. Take that, Frenchy. Salander was the most arrogant little twat in the office, 56 years old and still going. No one deserved his respect, except of course those who he had to suck up to to get another raise. There was even a rumor he literally sucked off his previous superior to get to his current position. Will had no problem with gays, but that was just wrong. Some people would mark him a hypocrite for that, as he'd spent the night with a colleague a while ago, which some claim indirectly gave him a promotion. He called it bollocks. Sure, he slept with her, and? He'd known her well enough she didn't let it affect her judgment. She'd been professional, able to divide work and personal affairs at a healthy level. At no point had their colleague-ship caused a problem. That's how she was.

Oh, and she was, of course, mighty attractive.

"Thorne, you're up.", the Administrator followed with his bear-like voice. Thorne gave a simple nod in return, his deep and somewhat charismatic voice echoing throughout the room "Thank you, Administrator sir." His demeanor was serious, but only because the meeting's formalities required him to. Will'd talked to him a few times on rare occasions, and he'd found him an enjoyable conversation partner. Gerald kept claiming the guy was a 'regional glitch in the system', but where he knew systems, Will knew people. During his social escapades he'd gathered enough expertise in the field of social structures, but individuals as well. He saw through them, read them like books. At least that's what he prided himself in. And as far as he could see, Thorne was just another guy doing his job, and having some fun in the progress. Perhaps he even looked up to him a bit, seeing how he was able to remain productive yet still let himself go now and then, a form of restraint unknown to Will. Maybe one day.

As head of the RPA, Thorne gave his weekly report on administrative competence. If he even had something to report, it mostly concerned 'minor' delinquencies or deviations. A rough night of a little too much alcohol here, a slap on the behind of a secretary there... common endeavors of men in power. It often portrayed the highlight of joint meetings, however. People just love hearing those little things about others, especially the power-hungry hive he was surrounded by. 'Information is power'. And this week, they had the jackpot.

"Minister Fred Wielinga has been arrested and processed for regional evaluation on grounds of evidence revealing sexual relations of a sodomic nature with offline Transhuman operatives.", Thorne soothingly stated. "Regional Evaluation Teams are interacting as we speak." Well what the living fuck. Sex with one of those... 'things'? I mean, he knew there were odd fetishes around the world and its population, but this was just sick. He was close to throwing up, and Gerald looked like he was gonna be needing a shrink. It was hard not to chuckle at his facial expression, but he was able to keep a hold of himself. The Administrator sighed rather deeply, air flowing outwards beneath his thick beard "What're your expectations, Mr. Thorne?", he asked, annoyed but untouched by the news. Thorne grinned lightly "I don't believe he'll be sodomizing our troops again any time soon, sir." The Administrator smiled, and Rosebury, amongst others, let out a slight chuckle. "Good. Poor soldier", Jefferson replied, to which Thorne's open-mouthed smile extended even further. The Administrator was a funny guy, now and then. Gerald appreciated him more than he did though. Almost an obsession of sorts, or so it seemed. The father figure he never had? He knew his friend had a father, but he'd told him he never had much contact with him besides formalities. I guess the Administrator had been more of a mentor and parent than anyone ever was. Good for him, really. As awkward as his friend was, nothing made him smile more than to see him happy. Well, that and breasts.

Thorne had finished, and the Administrator seemed quite a bit more pleased with his story than Salander's. His demeanor was soon to change, however. A ROYAL Overwatch soldier, clad in white, slowly but steadily approached the Administrator from the side, before leaning over. Judging from the Administrator's facial expression, the soldier was whispering into his ear. Immediately, a thick frown appeared, followed by the corners of his bearded mouth plummeting down. He returned an angered whisper. "Gather ... now ... make sure ... or ..." The soldier didn't nod, but it was obvious he had acknowledged the Administrator's words. He walked back to his place, buzzes of radio chatter leaking from his helmet, albeit inaudible. The Administrator raised his voice lightly, but enough nonetheless. "This meeting's adjourned. Back to work." Immediately, Salander blurted out "But sir! My presentation on the recent UP-" The Administrator was quick to cut him off and slash back "Oh be quiet, Maximilian! One more inch of your whining and I'll spank you like the child you are. Now get back to work." Salander blinked, immediately backing down and walking out of the double doors, now opened by the two ROYAL guards. To one unacquainted with he Administrator, his outburst may have seemed irrational and unprofessional at best. And while the Administrator had always been a man of temper, he'd never lacked reason to unleash it. Whatever the soldier had revealed, it had been far from pleasant; the Administrator's face showed it in many flavors. And as the oak-wooden doors closed swiftly behind him, a murmurous, bellowed burst of yelling could be heard from within.


End file.
